Homecoming
by Naya Zephronic
Summary: A hint of the smell of leather mixed in with wood smoke made him feel more at home here then he'd ever believe possible. One-Shot. Fluffy


Prompt by a follower on tumblr.

If you read my Hero's are Made, you know I head canon Fenarel and Tamlen as twins, but here's a friendly reminder. :)

When she said how different her clan was from the one they'd met during the blight, or how different they would be from the clan he'd run away to during his years with the crows, he shouldn't have doubted her. Not that he doubted her much to begin with, he already had proof how different clans could be just comparing the Antivan clan to the Ferelden one, but this, he simply did not expect.

Mostly, Zevran thought, it was because she returned to those whom had thought her lost forever. There'd been so many teary eyes as every Dalish in the clan came forward to embrace her. He felt a little awkward, standing to the side, until someone turned his way and enquired who he was.

"This is Zevran," His Warden said smiling. She turned his way, and with so much pride in her voice that it nearly knocked him to the ground said, "My bonded."

Instantly he'd become _Lethallin_, part of the clan, part of their family. They welcomed him, never questioning. If he was with their dear Mahariel, then no matter his history he was one of them. Even the Keeper, an aged woman with what looked like gold inlaid in her vallaslin came forward, embraced him and thanked him. _Thanked him_ for keeping her dear dal'en (child, the word for child) safe.

Zevran felt the defensive need to shock them, to lay out the worst bits of himself as he'd done with the warden, to find the limit of their tolerance, expecting it to be as low as a human's only to get questioning gazes and half laughs.

"Well," Said one elf, Lyna had introduced him as Fenarel, (and he was sure the elf looked familiar somehow) when he told the clan of their first meeting. "It all worked out, didn't it?"

Zevran could only shake his head and laugh. Here he had thought his warden's ability to overlook the darkest parts of him was a unique trait, but this was a whole clan who did just the same. He sat quiet, simply watching as the clan rejoiced and they were content to let him have as much time as he needed to adjust.

"Didn't expect this, did you?" The elf that sat next to him didn't share the strange mix that made up the Dalish accent; in fact it was perfectly Ferelden. He was a city-elf, or had once been. "I didn't either, when I found them. I told them I was going to be killed in Denerim and they just smiled and said, 'you're safe with us, for however long you wish to stay.' We're wrong, what we say about the Dalish, or maybe it's just this clan is different and we're lucky to have found them."

The assassin smiled and agreed.

It went on long into the night. The clan had even broken out their merger supply of whiskey, the _Hahren_ (elder_,_ these Dalish words did not come easy to him) generously adding his stockpile, both of liquor and of tales. He was sure Lyna had heard these stories a hundred times, even if Zevran himself was only hearing them for the first time, but the rapture on her face, the happiness of just being with her family again… He whipped a tear from the corner of her eye and gave her a long kiss.

He was glad to be able to give this back to her.

The night wore on, and finally began to calm. Zevran had done so much traveling with the warden and her group that camping had become routine. Yet, somehow with the Dalish, it wasn't simply camping. Tents were not thrown up on the fly after a long and exhausting day, but were tended to and the comfort of those intended on using it on a higher priority. Granted, nothing beat a soft bed in Zevran's opinion, but here with the Dalish clan, Lyna using his arm as a pillow was a close second. A hint of the smell of leather mixed in with wood smoke made him feel more at home here then he'd ever believe possible.

They wanted him to pass on some blade skills if he was willing, and they invited him along on the hunt, if he wished to join them. Zevran agreed to the first, but nearly declined the second, knowing that though he was skilled with a bow Lyna was better, and that her clan was _known_ for their skill as a whole. He didn't wish to embarrass himself, but his Dalish turned those sad green eyes on him and he couldn't refuse.

He got her back quick enough, the group 'losing' them for a while as she tried to muffle her groans and he did his utter best to break that control. It was lucky she wore those leather gloves; else she might have bitten her finger off at the knuckle. Not that he'd let her. The clan wasn't fooled of course, she was too flustered when they caught back up with them, and he entirely too pleased. Of course, they said nothing. Privacy in a clan was nonexistent and only polite ignorance gave it any substance. They brought back with them a large buck and several smaller creatures, even Zevran had to admit he enjoyed it.

There was a liveliness to Lyna he rarely saw, but that was out in full force here with her clan. It brightened her every word and lightened her steps that had become so heavy with the weight the world had placed on her. There was comfort for him here too. Zevran had never been so readily accepted, treated as just another person except by Lyna, he'd thought it implausible and was happy to be proven wrong. Part of him believed they could remain here forever.

"Thank you Zev," Lyna mumbled softly as they sat under the stars.

"For what, _amore_?"

"I'd never come looking for them, if not for you."

"Thank _you, cara mia."_ He replied, a prayer in his voice as he brushed a few strands of hair away from her _vallaslin_. "For what you've given _me_."

They laughed and smiled, and watched as the night faded into dawn. Together.


End file.
